


The Savage Daylight

by Hesiones



Category: Grisha Trilogy, Shadow and Bone, Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan, Siege and Storm, The Grisha Trilogy
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 22:18:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hesiones/pseuds/Hesiones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alina Starkov has been in the Stationary Guard for a year when the titans attack Trost and she discovers that she has a power spoken of in legends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Plummet

This is it. This is the end. This -  
“Alina!” Mal. As an enormous, fleshy titan hand reaches for me, he grabs me to him and swoops into the air. We land on the roof of a house before I register his arm at my waist and the warmth of his torso. My knees could buckle any moment now.  
Weariness floods through me. No, I can’t – not now.  
“How much gas do you have left?” I pant out, almost shaking. It’s as if Mal snaps out of a reverie. He quickly lets go of me. Well. No need to bait my hopes under these circumstances, anyway. Plus, he’d never go for scrawny, dust-haired, shadows-under-her-eyes Alina. Mal has numerous prettier faces going for him.  
“Just enough to get to headquarters intact.” The ten-meter titan from before lurches over to our little townhouse as another (a block to our left) cranes his neck to look at us.  
Well, he won’t be enjoying any face if we don’t get out alive.  
I flick a glance behind me, at the Garrison headquarters. That’s where supplies – the most important supply as of now is gasoline – would be. Of course, the supply squad should’ve come to us ages ago to check on our every need, but they didn’t. Either they were paralyzed by fear and stayed inside hq, or they…  
Even now, titans are besieging the building – its watchtowers looking lonely amidst a sea of the horrors.  
“I have enough for twenty more minutes in the air,” I state. “But let’s go.”  
“Yeah.”  
Mal whips around and sprints to the edge of the rood, gripping my hand. Amazingly, I don’t stumble as we leap off and onto another rood. Grey wood shingles creak and groan as larger, heavier feet thump down the streets.  
Up ahead, a titan (three-meter class) lurches around a small plaza. We’re two houses down from it, but it hasn’t noticed us yet.  
“I’ll distract it, you kill it.” Mal huffs, already veering to the right (the direction the titan is facing). I nod, but he’s already jumping onto the house on the right, catching the attention of the titan. Inside, I curl up into a ball and shake. That’s no use. I try to uncurl my stomach and focus on the task ahead. I’ve already helped kill a seven-meter class titan, with two other people. No need to panic over a three-meter with the help of one person.  
The titan stomps after Mal, who waits on the building he just landed on. I shoot my harpoon grapples at two o’clock and launch myself off the house, jerking my swords out of their sheaths. Whistling air, back to the sky, stomach to the ground. Blades flash as I hold them parallel to each other and slice through the brown neck. Hard flesh vibrates the hilts of my swords while metal tears through titan. Like cutting through a solid cubic meter of canvas or denim, but… but worse. Blood spatters on my white pants. Who was the intelligent person who designed the uniform, anyway?   
I soar through the remainder of the way and flip onto the townhouse, retracting the grapples as I turn around to check on Mal. Just in time, the titan crumples onto the clay tiles of the plaza, bleeding at the two gouges I’ve made on its neck. Mal arrives at the house to my right. I need to breathe.  
While I sit, panting, Mal arrives onto my roof and lays a hand on my shoulder.  
“Need a rest?”  
“Yeah.”  
I really can’t believe it. I’ve killed a titan. I really… I can’t… a smooth first kill is for someone of Mal’s caliber. Me? I’m perpetually tired, I’m weak, Mal looks at me in concern with no sign of physical exertion showing on his handsome face.  
“Alina, that was amazing. Perfect aim!”  
“The slices were shallow.”  
It was pure luck, really, that the two cuts I made just now were deep enough for a kill. I still can’t believe it actually died on my first hit. I still can’t believe it actually died.  
“I still could never have done that so perfectly. And they killed it.”  
“Thanks…”  
I guess our 3D maneuver gear teacher – back when we were trainees (a year ago) – did say I had the best aim in the trainee squad, as did my classmates, but that was all I had going for me. That, and nice scores I didn’t expect to get on my academic tests. I wasn’t brave, I was so weak I almost died in boot camp twice, my motivation was (is) minimal. I didn’t place in the top ten trainees at graduation, naturally. I got twelfth rank. Which was still surprising. There were scores of people who should’ve gotten that rank instead of me. Mal, however, stuck to my expectations and got third rank. I loathe him.  
“Come on, Alina. Let’s go.” Mal releases my shoulder and grasps my hand, tugging me up.  
No, I don’t loathe him. I could never. He’s the closest thing I have to family.  
“Do you have enough fuel to last two more titans, distracting them like that?” I ask.  
“Probably, but…”  
“I’ve got enough for three, I think – you’ve done more fighting than I have. Do you want me to take over distracting titans…?”  
“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”  
We both know Mal is faster and better at evasion than I am. I just worry over the amount of fuel he has left.  
“Well, if you need more fuel, I can give you some of mine.”  
“Thanks – wait, look at that.”  
On our left, a muscular titan with shaggy hair the color of loam towers over residential buildings. I can’t help it, but… elf. Never seen such pointy ears on titans or humans alike.  
There’s something… alert about him.  
“He’s intelligent.” I state flatly. Mal nods. We’d never get past an intelligent titan. In my chest, I curl up and sink into some abysmal, soft place. I can feel the air being squeezed out of my lungs. I gasp for breath, panicking. Mal glances sideways at me, concerned. I shake my head. I’m fine. Now is not the time to black out.  
A reverberating roar – something between a beast and hollow wood, but I understand it – echoes from the titan’s chest as it picks up a class seven titan by the neck and flings it at a class five.  
I know no other sound but my breathing, the crunching and smacking that Intelligent Titan makes when he stomps on his two victims (victims? they’re still titans), and Intelligent Titan’s echoing howl. Anguish, rage. It vibrates my bones. Maybe if I’m lucky enough to die of old age, my bones will be the kind that lets me know if it’s going to rain.  
Intelligent Titan reaches below our field of vision. We hear the sound of tough flesh tearing. Blood flies into the sky. Intelligent Titan straightens up, unhurt, and moves on to the left again.  
“I do believe our titan has killed two other titans.” I whisper.   
“Let’s thank him by getting into the HQ before any other titans come.” Mal suggests.  
“Let’s.” We dart across the rooftops.  
Something catches my eye. A lone girl swings in front of a class seven titan. Flames shoot at the titan’s eyes, blinding it.  
“A pyro from my squad’s over to our right. We should join her.” I shout. Marie (the Inferni) sweeps around, flipping to the back of the titan, and, with a stroke of her sword, cuts it down.  
“MARIE!!!” I yell. “OVER HERE!!!” To add visual emphasis, I wave my arms about my head. She waves back, already soaring to the house two down from ours. Mal and I hop over a house as she runs to us.  
“Mal, Marie,” I introduce. Mal and the curly-haired brunette shake hands briefly. “Marie, Mal. How much gas do you have left?”  
“Barely enough to get to headquarters without titans.”  
“Then we’ve got to be careful, but we need to get rid of those.”Mal points straight ahead to the headquarters. Two titans are in our path, clamoring outside the hq walls. The supply squad has got to be trapped in there. Other titans shuffle about the building too, but they are on the other side of it – they’re too far away. As of now.  
“You might need me, though. They’re awfully close to each other.” says Marie.  
“I guess, but I don’t think we have enough gas to carry you.” Oh, no. I didn’t mean to be rude, but she nods in understanding.   
We run. A chopped-off leg lies on the street. Occasional smears of blood are spattered across the cobbles. Adrenaline. I haven’t felt it in years, not like this.  
Of course, it might all come to an end. We were very lucky in encountering only small titans so far. Which the two monstrosities up ahead are not.  
Now’s not the time for this!  
“Alina, Marie, when we get there, stay behind me by one house until I get the attention of both titans.”  
“Mal, are you trying to kill yourself?!?” I’d be delayed by one roof, and he –   
“No, let me help,” Marie interjects breathlessly. “I’ve more fuel than I thought I would – I think I can stay for five more minutes in the air once we get to hq. Two is better than –”   
Here she takes a breather, a short gasp.   
“– than one. Please, I can’t sit an’ do nothing. ”  
We’ve stopped at the roof where I have to wait, on the slope not facing the titans.  
“Let me give you some of my fuel, then.” I take out and twist open my fuel canister. “I can stay in the air for eight to ten more minutes, and you’ll need this more than I do.”  
Mal nods his agreement, though worry lines are etched in his brow.  
“Thank you.” Marie slides her own gas canister out of her harness and opens it. I pour fuel into Marie’s canister until she has a millimeter more of it than I do, then we both screw the caps back on. Now I have about six to seven minutes left of fuel. She has seven to eight.  
I can feel the foundations of this house shake with each step each titan in Trost takes.  
“Go for the titans’ Achilles tendon, if you can.” I instruct, slipping my canister back in place. That way the titans won’t be able to move.  
“Good.” Mal says. “I’ll take the one on the right. On the count of three.”  
Marie crouches, ready to spring up and sprint out. Mal does the same.  
“One.” Marie whispers.  
“Two.” I crouch as well.  
“Three!”  
They race out, bootsteps echoing off the rooftops. I watch as the titans turn at the sound, grins full of teeth and red sinew. The one Mal will confront is taller than Marie’s by a meter. It’s a class 14. I’d better make this quick. Aha. As quick as killing a class 14 gets.  
Mal and Marie launch themselves off the last roof, heading in opposite directions and drawing their respective titans along. I burst out of my hiding place. Marie fires a cable into her titan’s right calf and soars an arc around the titan’s shins. She’s about to cut the tendon. I head towards her.  
In a deft, fluid motion, she reaches down and slices through the right heel. The titan collapses as she quickly retracts her cable. I leap from the townhouse and dive towards the titan’s exposed neck. Oh no, I hate flips, but I have to –   
And I spin, using the momentum to slash through the nape. My knees don’t quite care about the searing heat of the disintegrating titan as I fall onto them – a dizzy spell. The world flashes red and sunlight. The steam that I see around me could be coming from my ears, the way my head feels. Blood pounds behind my eyes. Ow.  
“Alina, get up!” Marie hauls me up by the elbow – I don’t know and I don’t care about how she got to me. At least there’s nothing in my stomach to throw up. Ow. “You’re going to roast like a goose!”  
I stagger down to the ground as Marie guides me. My head seems to have gotten over itself, at least. I’ve also never had roast goose before.  
We sprint for the hq and jet up to the roof. Mal flies about his titan, who keeps reaching for him but always misses by a hair’s breadth. Mal needs help.  
I push off again, Marie close on my heels.  
A bony hand reaches out and closes around Mal with a muffled crunch.  
“MAL!!!” I shriek as he screams in pain – a terrible, terrible sound. I hurtle towards Mal, shooting a cable into the titan’s fingers. Mal, Mal, Mal, please…  
“Marie, catch him!” I yell, hoarsely. Without explaining, I tumble onto the titan’s closed fist and hack at the wrist, frenzied. Saints, Mal!  
“Mal, Mal, hang on, please!” I gasp as I slice and chop and finally, finally, the fist is severed. I leap off. The titan’s fingers should protect Mal from the impact. Marie swoops in and clumsily gets hold of the giant fist, but it falls out of her arms and bounces a meter down to the ground. I shouldn’t have asked her to do that – it must have burned. Mal is burning, too.  
We thump onto the ground. I sprint over to Mal and cut at the titan fingers. Marie hauls Mal out. His skin is blotchy and red with scalds, purple where he was bruised by the titan. His left arm hangs awkwardly at his side. Broken. I bet a few ribs are broken too. His eyes are glazed over, his breathing shallow with pain.  
“Hang on, Mal, we’ve got you!” I grab his right hand and slip an arm behind his back. He hisses, gritting his teeth.  
“Alina… don’t. Get out while you can.” He gasps, then winces. “I’m deadweight.”  
“Shut up. We’re getting you out.”  
Marie snakes an arm around his waist, another around his legs, and we hoist him up. He wails again.   
“Sorry, so sorry…” I breathe, tears running down my cheeks. I’m crying?  
“Meet you,” he mumbles. “In the meadow.” Then he slumps and shuts his eyes. He’s gone unconscious.  
“GO, GO!” Marie suddenly screeches. The titan has lowered himself to the ground. It stretches its neck and opens its mouth on us.  
Terror sinks claws of ice into my shoulders. Something lets go.  
I wail, I scream.  
My vision glows around the edges. Light. Why does Marie throw up her arms and hide her face?   
I’m dying, am I.


	2. Nullity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that Ymir and Krista aren't with the other 104 members in the Garrison Headquarters when they get the fuel, but I couldn't help it - Krista would make such an amazing Corporalnik...

“Umm… excuse me?” A light voice. Have I died yet?  
My eyes are sticky. Eventually, though, they flutter open. A blonde with large blue eyes like the blue-green of a lake gazes down at me with concern. A sweet, innocent face like that belongs to a saint. So I am dead.  
But I doubt saints have need of 3D maneuver gear and a trainee’s uniform. I’m alive.  
I sit up stiffly. The girl sits back on her heels with a relieved sigh.  
“Thank goodness. Do you feel all right, Alina?”  
I’m in the Garrison headquarters. This is the attic. The rifles are gone.  
Two other trainees hang around by the door. They quickly look away. There isn’t enough light to see their expressions.  
“What happened?” I finally murmur, accepting a tin of water from the girl.  
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” The girl clasps her hands together tightly and bites her lip. “My name’s Krista Lenz, and I’m a Corporalnik.”  
Oh.  
I glance at her trainee’s jacket again. Red and gray. A Healer.  
“Your friend Mal is resting over there.” She waves a hand at a bare chest behind her. “I healed his broken ribs, his arm, and his fingers, but the rest has to wait until we get out of Trost, I’m sorry.”  
“Oh no,” I reassure hurriedly. “It’s all right, thank you for healing Mal.”  
Krista smiles, tiredly. “No problem. I was glad to do it. But,” she continues, “You should know that, ah, right when our group was almost at headquarters, we saw you, Mal, and your friend Marie on the ground. You were giving off light, and I think that blinded the titan that was trying to eat you. We killed it and got you all inside.”  
…what?  
“Giving off light?” I repeat. “How…?”  
“I don’t know. It may be … it may be that you are Grisha.”  
Me? A Grisha? Is this a joke? She certainly doesn’t look like she’s joking. The trainees at the door don’t look like they’re hearing something false.  
“How could I be a Grisha?” I couldn’t have given off – what, I was giving off light? There must be some kind of misunderstanding.  
In any case, there are only three types of Grisha. The Corporalki, comprised of Healers and Heartrenders, who can knit flesh back together or kill with a twitch of a finger. The Etherealki, or Summoners – different ones can manipulate air (Squallers), water (Tidemakers), fire (Inferni), or, in the case of two powerful soldiers, darkness. And there are the Materialki, who work with and refine solid, raw materials (Durasts), and deal with other fine points of chemistry, like blowing up their lab every so often or creating poisons, medicines, whatever (Alkemi). Our swords are made of Grisha steel; our cables are made so lightweight and strong that it’s almost… unnatural. The cannons use Alkemi-manufactured blasting powders. I could go on and on.  
“There are old legends, though…” Krista glances at me. Oh, and also, all the Grisha I’ve met are healthy and beautiful. Both of which I am not. Both of which Krista certainly is. “Have you ever heard of Sun-Summoners?”  
Of all the stories old Ana Kuya told us back in the orphanage…  
“No, I haven’t. Who are they?”  
“They were Grisha that summoned light. But…”  
“Hey Krista,” one of the trainees (dark chestnut hair, golden-brown eyes, freckles, tall stature, hair in ponytail, relaxed, looks about my age) at the door turns her head and looks at us. “Wasn’t the last Sun-Summoner dead two thousand years ago?  
“Yeah…”  
“So you’re rare.” She turns her attention to me. “Better be careful. Also, you know that sunlight strengthens most titans, right?”  
I wince. Yes, I’d almost forgotten.  
“You’re lucky you blinded the titan before it could do anything to you, otherwise you’d be dead and we’d have had a heck of a time bringing that titan down.”  
I wince again.  
“Ymir,” Krista interjects. “You’re being too-“  
Ymir holds her hand up. The other trainee at the door has left with some of his peers for some reason or another already.  
“And don’t give us crap about not being Grisha. We all saw what we saw. That light was coming from you. Weren’t you tested by Grisha before?”  
Who _is_ this girl?  
“Yes, I was tested when I was eight. They didn’t find anything.” I reply, a bit incensed. I still – I _can’t_ be a Grisha. Me, a _Grisha?_ A – what, a _Sun-Summoner ___? It’s closer to the truth to say I’m a nobody.  
Or is it? Am I lying to myself? And if they did all see me glowing like a lantern, they probably did see me glowing like a lantern.  
“Wait,” I inquire suddenly. “Where’s Marie?” I forgot that I haven’t seen her and her bouncing curls and her blue and red Inferni jacket yet.  
“She’s perfectly fine.” answers Krista. “In fact, she helped kill the titans that got inside the Garrison headquarters.”  
One look at my face.  
“Oh, there were seven titans that got inside the headquarters and we couldn’t get to the fuel because of them. Um, you’re part of the Stationary Guard, right? Do you know the layout of the headquarters?”  
I nod. I work here half the time.  
"There were rifles up here, so most of us took them and rode down on the lift to draw the titans around us. We fired all at once to blind them – Marie used her Summoning – then seven really talented people who were hanging in the rafters killed the titans. We’re getting new canisters now – I think Armin’s getting both yours and Mal’s.”  
“Wow, and thank you.” These trainees are smart.  
“Armin’s the one who came up with the plan. We just followed along. There were no casualties, too. He’s a genius.”  
Marie appears in the doorway, her curls bouncing in her hurry.  
“Alina! You’re awake!” She rushes over to my side. “Did you- ”  
“She’s been told.” Ymir informs, impatiently. Marie looks back at her, then turns her head to me again, raising an eyebrow and pressing her lips together. I smile ruefully.  
Another face appears in the doorway.  
“Krista, Ymir, I’ve got the cans.” A boy’s high-pitched voice. “Oh, hello! Your name is Alina, right?”  
His hair is a straight, bright yellow (Krista’s is a paler blond). His eyes are the blue of the sky at noon.  
“Yes. Are you Armin?”  
“Mmhmm.” He walks over to Krista and hands her a canister, then crouches down to attach a canister to my maneuvering gear.  
“Thank you.” With a slight build like that, Armin must’ve had to make up with brains.  
“You’re welcome.” He gives a small, boyish smile. “But we need to go soon. Will Mal be able to make it?”  
“Now that I’ve rested a bit, I think I can actually heal him a little more. Here, let me see.”  
Krista lays down Mal’s gear and shuffles over to him on her knees. I prop myself up on my elbows to watch reluctant to leave the cool (hard) floor. I want to go to sleep. My flitting eyelids and my sore legs and my weak shoulders agree. But I can’t, so I’ll try not to.  
Under Krista’s deft hands, dark bruises disappear from Mal’s skin. She cups his fingers in her palm and runs her own fingers over them.  
“Armin, could you roll up the legs of his pants?”  
“Okay.”  
As Krista works on Mal, her shoulders start to slump and sway. Her head keeps sagging, but when she notices, she jerks it back up.  
“Krista, that’s enough.” Ymir snaps.  
“Um, Krista, Ymir’s right.” Armin entreats, hesitantly squatting down next to Krista. “You’re overexerting yourself.”  
Krista takes her hands off reluctantly, but she looks exhausted. However, I’ve never seen someone exhausted who had a healthy, sated flush to their cheeks and an extra sparkle in their eyes. Even though she’s tired, she looks… refreshed?  
Speaking of which, I feel uncharacteristically good. Not just uncharacteristically good for a person who should’ve been – by all rights – eaten by a titan, but uncharacteristically good for me in general. Even though I’m about to fall off my elbows and get myself a headache from sleeping on the floor.  
 _I don’t understand._  
“Marie?”  
“Yes?” She tears her gaze from the two blond trainees and regards me. Marie’s a really friendly person, I guess, if a bit judgmental and snobbish.  
“Will you tell me everything you know about Grisha?”  
“Sure,” she replies, smiling a little. “But we’ve got to get out of here first.”  
Fair enough. I’ll have to ask her why Grisha look so happy after using their powers, how those powers actually work, how I can control mine (I don’t know if she can answer that, but it’s worth a shot), why…  
Why _me_ , of all people? Well, I certainly can’t ask her that. But why me? _Who am I?_  
A girl walks in with short hair so dark it’s almost black. She holds herself straight, her eyes are dark and deep and – almost – expressionless. There’s something foreign and beautiful about the angles of her face and the xanthic tint of her skin – fresh cut oak wood, like light and cream and yellow wheat all at once.  
“We have to go soon. Do you need any help?”  
“Wait, please.” Krista’s concentrating on Mal again, one hand resting over his heart, the other on his forehead.  
And there it is, Mal’s groggy, pain-laced groan. I shoot up from the floor. Oh no, I’m going to fall – Marie is at my side, holding me up as I try to find my balance somewhere, anywhere. I’m not quite sure where it’s hiding.  
I breathe a “Thanks”, then hurry over to Mal.  
“Alina?” Mal mumbles, eyes half open. “Are we dead? I saw light coming from you, and – ”  
“We’re alive. I’ll try to explain later, but we need to go. Can you stand up?”  
He takes in me, Marie, the room, the haggard trainees, the crashing and roaring of titans outside – wait, isn’t that Intelligent Titan’s roar? – and nods.  
“I can try. Though – ” He stops sitting up to suck in a pained breath. “Owww…”  
“Here.” I help him up to a sitting position, with my hand on the small of his back.”Thanks. I think I can do it. It hurts less than I thought it would.”  
“I’ll help.” Armin makes his way over to Mal’s right side. We slip beneath Mal’s shoulders and lift.  
At first, Mal leans heavily on us, but he braces is feet against the dusty wooden floor and, gradually, lets off.  
“Are you able to walk?” Krista speaks up.  
“I’m pretty sure…” Mal places one foot forward, as if he’s testing the floor to see if its wooden planks are rotten, then puts weight on it. Then the next, and the next. He paces around easily (making the floorboards creak) and even hops a little on the balls of his feet.  
“And here I thought I’d never see the light of day again. Are you the one who healed me?” Mal wonders, looking at Krista’s jacket.  
“Yes.” Krista stands up, hands clasped before her, the image of a little girl.  
“Thanks, I owe you one.” Mal gives that wide, pearly-white signature grin of his. Krista beams.  
“No no, no need! I’m glad to help!”  
My lips twitch. Everyone likes Mal.  
I spend the next minute getting into my gear. Howls and the sound of flesh hitting flesh reverberate through the headquarter walls.  
“Is that the Intelligent Titan fighting outside?” I ask no one in particular as Armin helps Mal with his gear. No, “Intelligent Titan” is a mouthful. I should start calling him Elf Ears.  
“You mean the rogue?” Mikasa offers. “That’s him. We’re using him to distract the titans while we’re in the headquarters.”  
There’s something else in the tone of her voice, but her face won’t show anything. Well, it’s not like I’m not curious about the titan too.  
When Mal is done, we clamber out the windows to start heading in the direction of Wall Maria’s gates.  
Once she’s out on the window ledge, though, Mikasa shoots up, going to the roof instead.  
“Mikasa?” Armin yells. “Mikasa!”  
He leaps off after her. I follow. Might as well get a good view of what’s going on outside.  
They gaze at Elf Ears mutely as I clomp up the roof. Other titans cluster around him, tearing off his flesh with their horrible mouths.  
His groan is a sorrowful sound – only half of what his roar was but twice as desperate, twice as anguished. Twice as scared.  
I understand him, I know how it feels to lose when you’re not ready. But I shouldn’t be feeling sorry for him – he’s a _titan_. Yet… _he’s being eaten_.  
“ _Cannibalism?!?_ ” Armin breaks the silence with his sudden exclamation. One titan gnaws at Elf Ears’ ribcage, another samples his collarbone skin, another his shoulder. Three smaller ones chew on his calf and his knees.  
“If somehow,” Mikasa notes. “We could figure out what’s going on with this titan, we’d be able to work our way out of this hopeless situation.”  
Her eyes – fathomless pools – never leave Elf Ears as he’s torn apart by so many jaws. He thrashes about, but it’s no use.  
“…it was a good chance, but too bad.” She concludes.  
Boots trot over the roof. Mal and Marie have arrived, along with a few other trainees I haven’t seen before. Krista and Ymir aren’t here.  
“I concur!” A deep, full-chested voice declares. It comes from a tall, muscled, and broad-shouldered youth with a squared jaw and corn-blond hair, who leads the way to us. “If we let it get completely devoured, we’ll end up none the wiser! Let’s go kill the titans that are clinging to it. We need it alive!”  
“Reiner, are you out of your mind?!?” a less full, tenor voice splutters. A boy (slimmer, shorter, narrower face, hair and eyes the same dust brown as my own hair) stares, incredulous and a bit worried, at the youth (whom I guess is called Reiner). “We’ve barely stuck our necks out of the water!”  
“This titan might turn out to be an ally. Have you considered that?” A girl, with hair (as blonde as Reiner’s) held in a simple knot and pale blue eyes like the sky after dawn, comments. She’s much shorter than the boys around her: namely Reiner, Light Brown Hair, and another (the tallest of all of us) with loam-dark hair and hazel eyes. “It’d be a much more powerful weapon than any cannon.”  
Time for more spluttering. “An Ally?! Are you serious?!?”  
“Ah…” Armin takes a sudden breath. We all turn to look at him. “I know that one.”  
His eyes suddenly widen in full recognition and he chokes back a gasp. “It’s the Deviant that killed Tomas!”  
The Deviant lumbers along, completely ignoring the clump of titans and their meal just down the street from him. The meal, however, screams and strains after it. Why this one? Aside from being a Deviant, there’s nothing special about the titan Armin speaks of.  
That hollow roar again. Actually, double the pain from last time, double the anger. Elf Ears throws himself after Deviant, albeit unsuccessfully.  
Then with a jerk, Elf Ears tears out of the teeth that hold him in place, knocking many titans down. We struggle to keep our footing as their bodies hit the ground.  
Elf Ears has torn out _both of his arms_.  
He hurls himself – screeching – at Deviant, and _chomps_ down on its neck.  
We’ve all been fairly quiet. Now, though, some of us (including me) let ourselves take a little gasp of air, a whimper of breath.  
And… Elf Ears isn’t regenerating? _What is he?_  
May Tomas rest in peace. Looks like he’s been avenged.  
A titan crawls toward Elf Ears. But one glint of his green eyes, and Elf Ears twists and _slams_ his dead Deviant down on the other. Blood spatters the streets.  
Elf Ears gets approached by another titan. Muscles clench and shift as he adjusts his stance and hold on Deviant, then he _flings_ that body at the attacker. The two victims crash into the building across the street.  
Deviant’s head rolls onto the ground.  
“Hey,” Light Brown Hair stammers. “You said you wanted to save him?”  
Elf Ears bellows his victory to the heavens.  
This is short-lived. He falls onto his knees and collapses, face down, onto the cobblestones. A sharp intake of breath from Armin.  
“Not surprising,” Light Brown Hair murmurs. “It looks like he’s run out of juice.”  
I hear him turn on his heel and begin to walk back down the slope of the roof, while a lump appears from the nape of Elf Ear’s neck.  
“It’s no big deal, now is it? We’re off! There’s no way we could’ve made an ally of such a freak, anyway. A titan’s a titan.”  
Who’s paying attention to him? The lump’s obscured by the steam and the cinders of the titan’s burning body. But it’s growing larger and larger, probably because Elf Ear’s neck is disappearing.  
Hey there…” I barely hear Light Brown Hair turn around again and stride over to us.  
Then an: “…eh?”, and I know he’s seen it too.  
‘It’ rises up and unfolds itself violently. A lone figure amidst the smoke. He’s (I’m pretty sure – the figure has a flat chest and short hair and, well, Elf Ears was male) on his knees, leaning backward with limp arms hanging behind him. His neck is bared to the steam, to the sky.  
On my left, Mikasa goes still. The heat that rises up from Elf Ear’s body caresses our faces.  
Without a word, she shunts off the building.  
Oh. What – wait – does she –  
I whip my head around to stare at the other trainees.  
They know him.  
It’s written all over their stricken faces, faces which show much more than the surprise Mal shows. They know him. One look at Armin and…it might be even more than that. He’s almost trembling. His wide blue eyes are stretched in such _shock_.  
“Hey, are you all right?” Mal places a hand on Armin’s small, slender shoulder. Armin can’t say anything, though his lips part.  
“I’m sorry, but,” I manage to inquire, hesitantly. “Who is he?”  
“…that’s Eren.” breathes Light Brown Hair, after I’ve almost given up.  
“Eren Yeager. He – I saw…” Armin’s whisper falters. He can’t go on. Mal squeezes his shoulder gently.  
“He’s one of our classmates.” Blonde Girl answers, quietly. “He got eaten by a titan.”  
Mikasa has sprinted to Eren’s side and is picking him up. Without pause, she scoops him into her arms and holds him in a hugging position. Maybe she is hugging him. Mikasa steps off the titan and shoots her cable into the roof.  
That titan couldn’t possibly have eaten Eren. He was too human, so human that he gained a sudden burst of energy to kill a titan a few meters away when he could’ve killed instead the titans that were eating him, that he never ate any titan that came across his path, that he always went straight for killing blows, that he ignored us when we were so close, so close. Elf Ears was too muscular, too angled, too skilled, too full of intent. Maybe… maybe Eren was controlling him somehow. In any case, Eren looks as fresh as a baby straight from the womb. If he was eaten, how could his skin not even look burned by the internal heat of the titan that swallowed him?  
At least someone had an idea of what I am. I don’t think anyone knows what he is.  
Mikasa lands on the roof. Without letting go of Eren (brown hair the color of walnuts), she sinks to her knees. He’s unconscious definitely. Hopefully, he’s alive.  
Mikasa tucks her head down to his chest and presses her ear against his heart. When she surfaces, her face…  
She crushes him to her and starts crying: deep, open sobs that make Eren’s limp form shake. Mikasa’s eyes are shut tight, but not tightly enough to block the tears that stream down her face and soak into the shoulder of Eren’s torn shirt, where her chin rests. Her face is tilted up to the sun. With each heave of her shoulders and each gasp that she takes, we know that _Eren’s alive_.  
Armin stumbles over to the two and also falls onto his knees. Mutely, he grasps Eren’s hand. Light reflects in his golden hair.  
A moment, then Armin whimpers and joins Mikasa. His grip on Eren’s hand quivers as he weeps.  
Something desperate clutches my heart. My hand finds Mal’s instinctively and we hold on while listening to them wail their sorrow, their relief against the bright blue sky.


	3. Din

     I can hear the sickly, harsh sounds of titans massing outside Wall Maria, impaling themselves on spikes to become shields of flesh. I can hear it, but I can’t see it. Is that better or worse for me? I can’t bear to see soldiers getting tossed into gaping, slack mouths full of teeth that make this horrible, horrible _crunching_ noise. I also can’t bear not knowing if Mal’s all right, if my squad’s all right, if Eren can seal up that breach in Trost’s walls.

     Right now, the southern Garrison forces are retaking Trost, and I don’t know _anything_.

     After we got to Wall Maria, the unconscious Eren, plus Mikasa and Armin, were whisked away to be “questioned” by Captain Verman, who’s a bit of a close-minded ass. Since I sometimes have cannon duty and was privy to the whole Eren shenanigan, I was ordered to help threaten the trio. It was an interesting experience. I never did like the Captain. Thank goodness Commander Pixis showed up and stopped him.

     Now Pixis is having Eren transform into a titan again to lift a giant boulder that’s been lying in Trost all day, carry it to the wall, and block the hole with it, allowing us to retake the city.

     Hopefully.

     And me? I began receiving strange looks, whispers, etc. until finally someone took me to see Commander Pixis, who was strolling on the wall with a wide-eyed Eren.

     “Ah.” Pixis sighed contentedly after a sip of kvas. “I’ve heard that surveillance spotted a strange light coming from someone who was picked up by the trainee squad that found Eren. Are you that girl?”

     “Yes.”

     “And your name?”

     “Alina Starkov, sir.” I tried to match his relaxed stride as we perambulated the wall.

     “Well, Alina, since we don't want any danger coming to you, and we don’t know if you can control your Summoning, you will have to stay out of combat until further notice.”

     “I-I… yes, sir.”

     “You will stay inside Wall Maria with a few squads to help settle the refugees. Are you all right with that?”

     “Yes, sir.”

     “Good, good. I have a feeling that Baghra would like to hear about you. The news will get to her soon in some way or another, so she will eventually ask for you.”

     He takes another sip.

     “A word of advice: Baghra’s sharp tongue only adds to her beauty.”

     “Ah, thank you, sir.”

     Eren had a slightly befuddled look on his sweet, childish face. (I must’ve been wearing the same expression.) He could’ve been a puppy with large, viridian eyes as he followed on Pixis’s heels, eager to please.

     Baghra… by that name, Pixis meant Garrison Commander (Baghra) Morozova, tasked with the eastern Walls, the leader of the Grisha. One of the only two Darklings alive. Ancient. As powerful as an entire army.

     Great. Can’t wait.

     Anyway, I stayed just long enough to hear through the middle part of Pixis’s (incredibly dramatic) speech, then I set off to help with the refugees.

     People are so much hassle. They get _this close_ to being eaten, then they whine about the most _idiotic_ things. No, you have to wait in line if you want shelter. The elderly, children, and their families have top priority, so no, you have to wait. No, families get one or two rooms each. Everyone else has to share with three other people. No, we can’t go back and fetch your incredibly important belongings from Trost. If you want a better place to stay, find a room in town and rent it. Your handsome looks will not get a room to yourself, no. If you want food, water, and a place to sleep, you’ll have to humble up and follow the rules, so _go to the back of the line_. Listen, I don’t care who you are, no one cares who you are, the titans don’t care who you are, and my swords don’t care who you are. Just because I’m sickly and skinny and so damn _tired_ doesn’t mean that I can’t cut your head off in a minute.

     I’ve had to break up at least two brawls, escort two crying kids back to their frantic mothers, escort one newly-made orphan to the temporary orphanage (I promised her I’d visit later, when I had time – she saw her widowed father get eaten), catch a pickpocket, and arrest a scammer before enough Military Police arrived to take over all refugee operations.

     Then, my temporary squad was sent to go on hospital duty. Which I’m theoretically happy to do, but it stinks in here. Groans of men and women in various degrees of pain echo through the halls. At least I’m working near the front entrance and its open windows.

     A distant clamor whispers past my ear. It billows in volume, and I know what it is. It’s the roar of rejoicing people as it sweeps towards us – screams, shouts, cries of jubilation.

     A tall, whip-thin boy with dark blond hair bursts into the doorway.

     “Captain Sforza!” He barges through the hall to get to my squad Captain (who’s manning the area two beds down from me).

     “Report, Thompson.” Captain Sforza commands, straightening up from the patient she tends to as Thompson skids to a halt in front of her.

     “We’ve retaken Trost! The titan-shifter sealed the wall!”

     The corridor resounds with ear-busting cheers, spreading through the hospital in a flood of joy and such _relief_.

     An absolutely elated Captain Sforza lets out a whoop and picks Thompson up, swinging him around and around.

     “Humanity’s first victory against the titans!” She yells. “We’ve done it!”

     Jubilant, noisy hollering floods the hospital halls.

     A weak murmur from beside me. I turn back to my own patient, whose lips move with words I can’t make out.

     “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear. Could you repeat what you said?”

     I lower my head so that I can hear what she says next.

     “We did it?” she asks.

     I smile and squeeze her hand gently. The cheering around us shows no sign of fading.

     “Yes, we did it.”

* * *

 

     Later, after my temporary squad has finished supper, a man arrives at the barracks.

     “Is Alina Starkov here?”

     “Yes.” I stand up from my bench. Everyone stares at me.

     “I am to take you to the Commanding quarters. Follow me please.”

     “Yes, sir.”

     I can feel the eyes boring into my back as I step over the bench and scramble after him. Once I leave the threshold, the mess hall erupts into noise again.

     “Why am I going to the Quarters? Who sent for me?”

     “Morozova’s orders.”

     Oh.

     My feet shuffle along the path, creating just enough noise to keep my eyelids from fluttering completely closed, my head from drooping to an angle steeper than 45 degrees, my breathing from turning too slow. Now is _such_ a _great time_ to interrogate me about something I had no idea of until nine hours ago.

     Somehow, I make it into a carpeted, cozy, fire-lit office without falling on my face. A bony, angled woman with shining black hair is busy with paperwork at an expansive, polished desk.

     “Commander Morozova, I’ve brought Alina Starkov.”

     “Good.” She looks up. I catch a glint of firelight in her gunmetal eyes as she gazes impassively at us. She’s younger than I gathered from my first glance. Her lips are thin with age and wrinkles crease her pale skin, but her arms are sculpted with muscle and her head is held high. She is not someone I’d want to mess with.

     “Xandros, you are dismissed.” She has a deep, steel voice. Xandros salutes her and steps out of the study, closing the door with a _snick_. Just me and the Commander now, flames playing with shadows on the walls.

     “Come here,” the commander instructs, pointing to a chair that’s pulled up to the front of her desk. “Sit.”

     She scrutinizes me while I walk over and settle myself awkwardly on the seat, a soft leather armchair. Pain sparks out through my waist in a heavenly burst. It’s been such a long day and this chair feels like going to heaven while saints massage away all your back pains. It’s almost enough to thank Morozova for bringing me here.

     “Were you tested by Grisha before?” she asks.

     “Yes, when I was eight. They didn’t find anything.”

     “Your papers say you’re an orphan from Keramzin. They have most of their children enlist. Does this include you?”

     “Yes – I mean, no, I enlisted of my own free will.”

     Morozova raises her pen-sharp eyebrows. “Really?”

     I have to look down at my fingers. “I enlisted because my friend was required to enlist.”

     Her expression only changes enough to let me know she believes this final explanation. Which is true. Mal was big and strong by the time he turned twelve, so he had to enlist. I just tagged along.

     But enlisting ended up in my interest, because Mal would’ve joined the Scouting Legion. My enlisting essentially forced him to join the Garrison instead, to keep me company. If I hadn’t decided to become a soldier, he’d be a Scout and I’d be worrying over him constantly, wondering if he’d become one of the thirty percent of Scouts who didn’t return from an expedition. My joining the Scouting Legion wasn’t even an option. I’d be mincemeat the second I rode out of Wall Rose.

     I’m a horrible horseback rider too.

     “Right now, you’re going to fall asleep in my office if I don’t do something.” Morozova comments. “You will stay in the Quarters tonight, then tomorrow I will test you for your Summoning. First, though I will escort you to your rooms. Come, now.”

     She rises from her seat and glides out from behind the desk. Her pace is quick; Kalinin’s reached the door and opened it before I’ve taken one step.

     “Are you always this slow? I said _come_ , girl, unless you’d like to sleep on the carpet instead of a bed?”

     I have to trot to match her stride. Commander Morozova must’ve been an extremely beautiful woman when she was young. Although she still is, I suppose. Pixis was right.

     She certainly looks like the Darkling she is in her black jacket, trousers, and boots. The white of the standard military shirt and the crimson roses of the Garrison’s coat of arms stand in stark contrast with all of that black, making her seem even more saturnine.

     Kalinin’s hair falls down her back in a long, thick braid that glints with the light of the hallway sconces.

     I’ve heard plenty of rumors about Commander Morozova. The other Darkling is her son, Aleksander Morozova, who’s a captain in the Scouting Legion. They summon darkness, which has proven immeasurably useful, since titans become dormant without light. They are also one of the few Grisha who can use the Cut, which is a special, powerful technique that is exactly what it sounds like – a slash of Grisha power that can cut whole trees down, persons in half, and, more importantly, titan heads off.

     And, for some reason, the Morozovas have lived for an inordinately long time. I’ve heard rumors of a hundred-twenty years for the Captain, who supposedly looks about seventeen years old.

     We’re all just grateful to have them. They are armies unto themselves.

     After a short walk through the corridors, we end up in front of a nondescript door.

     “I’ve ordered a hot bath drawn up and fresh clothes for you. Don’t fall asleep in the tub.”

     With a curt nod, Morozova strides down the hall, leaving me at the door. I tentatively reach for the brass handle and turn it, revealing a lightly furnished but comfortable-looking room. A fire burns in the hearth. Clean clothes – both a new uniform and night wear – are draped over a sofa. The bed is covered with clean sheets and a fluffy comforter, all bright as snow. There’s an open door on the left wall.

     I slip inside, close the first door gently, then stumble to the second. In it is a large, ceramic bathtub, filled with steaming water. One candle-lit sconce burns on the wall.

     Heaven.

     To prevent falling asleep in the hot, soothing water and the darkness of the room, I scrub vigorously at my skin, then my hair. It’s miraculous how getting clean can make me feel so refreshed, like all my worries are melting away in the steam while the sconce light flickers yellow and warm.

     When I’m done, I reluctantly rise from the bath, shaking water off my feet before stepping onto the wooden floor. I pluck up the towel that’s been hanging off the edge of the tub and dry myself with it. This is all so much nicer than anything I’ve ever had. It’s nice and quiet. I’ve always had to share a room with someone else.

     I drape the towel over myself, tiptoeing into the bedroom. Someone left a tray of food and a glass of water on the low table that’s in front of the sofa.

     An inexplicable urge to eat rushes through me. Am I still hungry, even after the dinner I finished off in the barracks? Today was the first time I was hungry since – what – since I was eight?

     Never mind. I throw the towel onto the sofa (and wince – my poor, abused arms) and grab the nightgown, plus a fresh change of underwear. My dirt, sweat, and blood-stained clothes had been put on the sofa earlier, when I was about to go in the bath, but they’re gone now. A servant or someone must be looking after me.

     The material of my new clothes is soft, whispering around me as I pull them on. Linen, maybe.

     I plunk myself down on the plush sofa and toss a slice of bread into my mouth. Then some cheese. Then some ham. Then a carrot. Soon, I’ve licked the tray clean and drunk half the glass. When Xandros pulled me from my meal in the barracks, I’d thought I was full. Apparently not. Why this sudden burst of appetite? My stomach feels unnaturally full.

     …

     …

     Should I get up and sleep on the bed? I should, but…

     A huge sigh heaves through my lungs. I push myself off the sofa, almost landing in a heap on the floor. One sore foot in front of the other, I blow out the candles, then collapse onto the blanket and squirm under the covers.

     …


	4. Dormant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can just feel my Hange-worship emanating from the screen.

     “Miss Starkov?”

     Snow, moonlight, evergreen trees…

     “Miss Starkov?”

     Morning sunlight, hand on my shoulder, shaking, white sheets…

     “Nhhmmm?” A woman in Garrison uniform releases my shoulder and steps back.

     “Sorry for interrupting your sleep, but Commander Kalinin has asked to have you eat breakfast with her in thirty minutes. Do you need any help?”

     “Ah, no, thank you.”

     “In that case, I’ll be waiting out in the hallway.”

     The brunette gives me a quick smile and leaves me to dress.

     It’s hazy in here. Actually, that’s just the sleep residue in my eye. I try blink it out furiously, but the stickiness won’t come out. I need to wash my face.

     It’s remarkably quiet. I’ve never woken up to quiet before. Both training camp, the Trost Garrison barracks, and the orphanage were noisy in the mornings.

     I sit up and stretch out my creaking joints, then slide out of bed. Here I am, waking up to a room that’s nice and peaceful and all mine while the members of my squad have to sleep in the crowded barracks.

     Or maybe they’re not so crowded anymore.

     I sit down with an abrupt thump. The mattress protests.

     Alexei and Anya are dead. I saw them get eaten. I don’t even know anything about the rest of my squad. Or Mal. Are they alive? Did they get hurt?

     Pain settles in my chest. Anya I was only acquainted with, but Alexei was a friend. He drew really well – he was even apprenticed to the Head Mapmaker. When I felt like sketching, he sometimes helped me out.

     My new uniform lies, shining, in the pale morning light. The jacket is Summoner blue, with golden cuffs, collar, and trimming. The pants are the yellow of sand.

     How did I not notice this last night? How are they so certain I am Grisha? How did I end up here?

     I foot my way to the sofa and numbly pull off my nightgown, beginning to dress. Even though they didn’t measure me, the uniform fits well. Usually, clothes sag on me, bemoaning the lack of meat on my bones. There’s a basin filled with water on the table, next to a handtowel and a brush. After I slip into my boots, I shuffle over to that table to take care of my face and hair.

     On second thought, I should put on my harness, too. I have no idea what I’m getting into today.

     When I’m done with everything, I tentatively open the door. True to her word, the brunette leans against the wall, staring into space. She pushes herself off the plaster and beckons with a hand, ambling briskly down the hall. I hurry to catch up.

     Dust motes swirl lazily in front of the occasional window, illuminated by the gentle sunlight. Otherwise, the halls are spotless. Not one stain or smudge on the floor, not one on the walls.

     Shortly, we arrive at another non-descript room. The woman knocks.

     “Come in.” Commander Kalinin’s voice drifts out from behind the door. My escort twists open the handle and steps inside, saluting immediately. I trail behind her.

     “Thank you. You may go.”

     The woman leaves. I’m left to take in a small space, with only a circular walnut table that wits three chairs. Kalinin sits in one, Commander Pixis lounges in another.

     “Hello, Alina.” Pixis greets jovially.

     “Sit, girl.” Kalinin gestures at the empty chair. I clomp towards them and slip into the seat. A plate of bread, cheese, ham, and a (peeled) hardboiled egg lies in front of me with a glass of water.

     “Eat. I trust you have met Pixis?”

     “Yes, ma’am.”

     I take a sip of water. Pixis spears a piece of ham with his fork and brings it to his mouth.

     “Then there is no need for introductions. My son has let me know that he will come at about noon with Major Hange from the Recon Corps to meet you. I will test you beforehand, but I’ll have to again for them. From there, we’ll decide what we’re going to do with you. You may prove a liability if you can’t control your Summoning, given that light strengthens titans.”

     I stare down at my plate. Pixis gazes at me with an indecipherable expression as he chews on his ham. Well, thanks for reminding me again.

     I pick up the fork and knife by my plate and begin to cutup my ham. Kalinin and Pixis start to discuss the details of what happened yesterday in Trost.

     I can’t control my Summoning, which means I’m… I… I don’t want to think about it. They probably won’t do anything bad to me. Probably.

     The ham on my plate glistens pink with a little moisture. I force myself to eat. I’ll probably need my breakfast – all of it. First I meet Commander Pixis and Commander Kalinin, then Captain Kalinin and Major Hange as well? Why is my Sun-Summoning so important? I’m useless against titans, so what else can I do? Sell my services as a human candle? Go explore caves? Grow crops? The only special thing about a Sun-Summoner now is that I’m the only one alive that they know of.

     “Let’s go to the study.” Kalinin stands up, pushing her chair back. My plate is cleared of food except for half of the bread.

     This makes me irrationally satisfied. Even though I had to force myself to stomach all of it, I finished nearly all of my breakfast.

     As we leave the room, a boy enters to clean up.

     We stroll to the office Kalinin first saw me in last night. It’s actually less luxurious than it seemed to be last night. The floral carpet is worn and browned with use. The desk has that tired, weary sheen of oak polished year upon year – dark, speckled grain amidst honeyed wood rounding off at the once-sharp edges. Pixis takes a seat, but Kalinin remains standing.

     “Come here, girl.” she commands, pointing down at a fleur-de-lis in that’s woven in the carpet. I obey.

     Kalinin extends her arms. Pools of inky blackness swirl and form in her outstretched palms. I barely have time to get scared before Kalinin claps her hands together and spreads her arms wide. Darkness envelops the study. I can’t see, I can’t see, I can’t –

     Sinewy, bony, callused hands take mine firmly. I yelp.

     “Afraid of the dark?” Kalinin mocks, but a sense of calm, surety, certainty washes over me.

     It calls.

     A wave of… of… something I can’t name, a wave wells up to answer.

     Instinctively, I try to push it down into the depths of my chest.

     “Well? Don’t be afraid of it. It won’t bite.”

     The Something in me is a sobbing relief, a much-needed rest, soft sun caressing meadow grasses as cumulus clouds drift across the noontime sky, a gentle summer breeze. My diaphragm wants to lock it up and never hear from it again, but I need more, so much, so badly.

     Pixis, who has kept silent all this time, speaks up.

     “Have you ever heard the saying, Alina,” he offers quietly. “That a candle shines brightest in the dark?”

     I let the sun rise.

     Brilliant white light rushes to me – an avalanche, a geyser, a person – previously trapped underwater – shooting up for air. I am the flood.

     Kalinin withdraws her hands. That wonderful confidence leaves. The light dies down, settles. A key is turned, a door is sealed shut. I almost reach out for Kalinin, grip her hands, beg for that sweet peace, but I stop myself. My knees tremble.

     “Sit.”

     I stumble into the same leather armchair from last night.

     Arms, legs, torso shaking, a deep breath. Another. Three. Four.

     Slow clapping makes me look up again. Pixis is the culprit.

    “Beautiful,” he congratulates, and I think he means it. Kalinin’s still standing there, now with her arms folded against her chest. The darkness is gone. Ordinary yellow sunlight from before the testing filters in through the window.

     The noise of human activity drifts in from outside. A few shouts, a few horse hooves, a few wagons rumbling down the cobblestones.

     “Can you try by yourself now?” Kalinin finally asks. Whereas she used to sound like steel, her voice is now softer. Silver.

     Can I?

     I bite my lip, close my eyes, and try to recall that serene conviction that washed over me.

     Nothing.

     “No, ma’am.”

     “Hmmph.”

     We spend the rest of the morning trying to get me to Summon light by myself. Pixis leaves early on – he has business to attend to – but he’ll be back for a little while for the Captain and the Major.

     I can’t do it. I just can’t. Every time Kalinin lets go of me, it clicks closed. I can’t feel that _sense_ , even immediately after she slides her hands away.

     “What am I supposed to do with you, girl?” she exclaims, throwing her arms up in the air. “Children half your age can do this!”

     I wasn’t sure how bad today would turn out, but I didn’t expect to feel _this_ bad. Kalinin keeps chiding me as she tries to teach me how to call my power – different methods, tactics, tips – and I fail miserably. Not even one single ray of light.

     Three abrupt knocks sound on the door, in the midst of Kalinin’s berating.

     “Yes?” Kalinin snarls, impatiently.

     “Captain Kalinin, Captain Levi, Major Hange, and Commander Pixis have come to see you, ma’am.” That’s the brunette’s voice, muffled by the wooden door.

     “Enter.”

     The door squeaks open. Four people file in, everyone except Pixis saluting. Kalinin gives a quick nod.

     The first person is a boy about my age, with a sweep of almost-black hair, quartz-gray eyes, a sharp, angled face, and pale skin. He wears a black jacket and black pants like Kalinin, but on the back of his jacket are the Wings of Freedom instead of the Garrison Roses. He must be the other Darkling, Irinei Kalinin. He looks somewhat like his mother.

     The second is a woman with glasses and tied-back chestnut hair. Her eyes are a warm, molten brown. Her jacket is Summoner blue with silver accents, while her pants are a light grey – she’s a Squaller. She must be Major Hange. I’ve heard that she can also use the Cut.

     The third is a relatively short (about my height) man, a non-Grisha. He also has black hair and pale skin, but his grey eyes are lighter, narrower. He really bears no resemblance to the mother-son duo. His expression is detached, almost to the point of boredom.

     Irinei and Hange glance at me with not a little sympathy in their eyes. So they heard at least part of Kalinin’s latest scolding. I want to wither and sink into the carpet.

     “Hello, Ma.” Ma? Huh.

     “Hello Irinei, Hange, Levi.” Kalinin steps up to pat her son’s back, then the four guests each take a seat.

     Levi? Captain Levi of the Scouting Legion, “Humanity’s Strongest?” Why is he here?

     “You’ve come to see the Sun-Summoner. Well then, meet Alina Starkov. Demonstration first.” Kalinin states flatly. She grasps my hands into hers again. Darkness billows through the room. My sunlight washes it open, collects like dewdrops on my skin.

     Kalinin takes her hands away. The light fades.

     “She can’t Summon on her own, though. Believe me, I’ve tried. Not a speck of light.”

     I want to disappear. I wish the floor would pull me down into a deep, underground hole. I can almost feel it sucking at my heart. My face burns.

     “Perhaps you should give Alina a day or two.” Hange suggests, low and mellow, honey-rich. “I’ve never heard of a Grisha who couldn’t begin by themselves in a day, but I’ve never heard of a Grisha whose power was dormant for so long, either.”

     The Major gives me an encouraging smile. Her wind-whipped, somewhat messy hair shines russet and fresh earth. Behind her glasses, her liquid, summer-soil eyes glow with warmth.

     Grisha.

     I almost have to look away. Guilt and envy nibble at me. Hange is too nice.

     “And what do you have to say, Alina?” Wait, what? Oh, Pixis.

     “I had no idea until I was about to get eaten by a titan yesterday,” I reply.

     “Then the Summoning was probably triggered by that.” Irinei says. His voice is smooth and cool, quiet like glass.

     Levi leans forward in his chair.

     “Tell us everything that happened, what you did, how you felt, starting from the moment you woke up yesterday morning.” he commands, inflections brief and abrupt, almost gruff.

     Hange takes out a notepad and pen from a jacket pocket. I hesitantly begin.

     Occasionally, my superiors make comments, like:

     “That’s because using our powers strengthen Grisha,” Hange explains after I mention feeling good when I regained consciousness in the Trost Garrison headquarters.

     And:

     “Oh?!? You saw Eren in his titan form _and_ saw him emerge from the titan body first-hand?!? You’re so lucky!!!” Hange almost squeals, a minute or so afterwards.

     “Shut up, Hange.” Levi snaps, tiredly.

     “Sorry!” Hange grins a full, cheerful grin. “Please go on!”

     When I’m finished, Hange looks over her notes, furrowing her brow.

     “Alina, were you always this sickly?”

     … (ouch)

     “No…”

     “When did you start feeling sickly?”

     “Around… maybe when I was eight?”

     “When were you tested?”

     “When I was…”

     …oh.

     “…eight.”

     “And were you tested before or after you started feeling sickly?”

     I remember watching the carriage with the testers drive away, feeling immensely, immensely _tired_.

     “Immediately before,” I whisper.

     Excitement glimmers in Hange’s eyes. Kalinin, who sits behind her desk now, leans forward a little more. Irinei raises his eyebrows.

     “Forgive me, but I was wondering if your power not showing up for all these years had some effect on your health. Grisha, after realizing their powers, feel worse than usual if they don’t use those powers for a certain amount of time – about a month or so. And since you can’t Summon, even though the natural urge to Summon is there and that urge must be affecting your health, perhaps there is a… block on your Summoning.

     “If this proves correct, then the block was either placed on you by some action of the tester, or you placed it on yourself when you were being tested.”

     “Can you remember anything about your testing?” Kalinin demands.

     I run a thumb across my palm, tracing a faint scar left there from my orphanage days.

     “I – my tester was a woman. My friend was tested by her afterwards. She didn’t find anything in either of us. And when the Grisha left, I felt very…”

     I need to breathe.

     “ …very tired.”

     I pause for a moment.

     “There’s something important that I’m forgetting.”

     It tugs at the back of my neck, a fly on a titan. I know it’s important – I know, but I don’t know.

    “That’s all right,” Hange gives me a reassuring smile. But when you remember, let us know. I’ve never heard of a case like yours.”

     The officers go on to discuss what to do with me, at least until I learn how to control my Summoning. In the end, they agree on having me stay with Commander Kalinin so she can try to teach me Summoning.

     “When you learn how to Summon, can – can I borrow you to help with my two new titans, Sawney and Bean?” Hange asks, fairly glowing.

     Irinei gives a start. “Do you mean – “

     “Hange, _no_.” Levi splutters.

     “But Levi, I’ve already borrowed Irinei to study them in extreme darkness, so it’s perfectly natural to study them in extreme light!”

     “Hange, you’re going to get yourself eaten.” Irinei enunciates carefully.

     “No I won’t! Baghra, will _you_ let me borrow Alina to study Sawney and Bean?”

     “Not unless you promise to have Levi and Irinei sitting at the back of their necks,” Kalinin answers, folding her hands together on the table. “I don’t trust you with your titans.”

     “Ma, _no_.” Irinei pleads, desperate. “She’ll badger us for hours to get us to do that!”

     “I’ll cut out both of her pets’ necks, save us the trouble of listening to her baby the titans.” Levi growls.

     “But Levi, Irinei!” Hange cajoles, her voice rising a few notes.

     Pixis chuckles, slowly getting up from his seat.

     “Seems like you all are having fun. Unfortunately, I must go now. Levi, Irinei, Hange, good luck with your titans.”

     “They’re hers, not ours.” Levi interjects harshly.

     “Well, it seems that you will have to deal with them too.” Pixis’s eyes twinkle.

     “It was delightful to see your lovely face again, Baghra, and – ” he turns to face me – “It was a pleasure to meet you, Alina Starkov.”

     What do I say to that?

     So I just salute him and he nods to me, ambling out the door. Kalinin rolls her eyes.

     “And now that a human who can be turned into a titan has been discovered, Hange just keeps going _on_ and _on_.” Irinei mutters, massaging his forehead with his fingers.

     “Well, it’s _exciting_!” Hange whines, defensively. “I’ve never been this excited in my life!”

     “We can tell.” Levi snaps.

     “Levi, why did you come today?” Kalinin leans back in her chair.

     “Free time,” the Captain states, but something flickers over his face. Hange and Irinei exchange a knowing look. Kalinin notices and her usual, no-nonsense expression softens a little.

     “I’m sorry for the soldiers you all lost yesterday.” Kalinin’s steel voice is gentle. Levi nods curtly, his face showing some of that flickering quality again. Kalinin’s son does the same.

     “Thank you,” Hange murmurs.

     Free time… so the Captain chose to come instead of mull over his dead comrades.

     I’m so glad Mal didn’t join the Scouting Legion.

     No no, what a selfish, shameless, horrid person I am, but I’ll keep thinking it. I can’t help it.

     After a moment of silence, Irinei, then Hange, the Levi stand up.

     “We should go now – I need to check on Sawney and Bean.” Hange exclaims, cheerful again.

     I stand up too, as she makes her way over to my chair. Hange cups my hands in hers.

     “Alina, I’m honored to have met you. If I remember correctly, the last known Sun Summoner lived ages ago. You are the stuff of legend. Good luck with your Sun Summoning.”

      She squeezes my hands, then releases them, her rich, earthen eyes shining behind her lens, a merry spark of sunlight glinting off the glass.

     “I know you can do it,” she continues, quieter. “Don’t let Baghra get you down. And try to eat and sleep more – it will help your Summoning, even if it’s the block that’s really causing the loss of your health.”

     Hange gives me a confident smile, then moves toward the door, saluting Kalinin. A cheerful: “See you later, Baghra!” and she’s out.

     Levi nods to me, face impassive again.

     “It was nice meeting you,” then he hurries after Hange.

     Irinei is last.

     “My mother is a bit taxing,” he whispers. “But you get used to her. She’s the best Summoning teacher I know of, though. Good luck.”

     Straightening, he waves to Kalinin. “Bye, Ma.”

     Kalinin inclines her head in acknowledgement. Irinei hastens after the first two.

     When their steps stop echoing through the corridors, Kalinin points at my chair again.

     “Sit.” I plop down on the leather-cushioned armchair.

     “I don’t have many staffers, since I prefer to do my own work rather than let others bungle it up. However, if I am to teach you Summoning, I’ll have less time for my numerous administrative duties.”

     I shrink.

     She looks me over, eyes narrowed critically. I almost squirm in my seat. I never meant to be a burden, but I guess I’ve always been one, anyway. Why stop now?

     Though I might be able to help with her paperwork… I’ve done it for my Squad Leader before.

     I’m about to timidly speak up and offer my meager help, but Kalinin beats me to it.

     You look like you can be trusted with paperwork. Very well, you’ll serve as my aide, so that I don’t lose time teaching you, beginning after lunch today. I’ll start you off with the more simple tasks until you’re familiar with everything.”

     “Yes, ma’am.”

     “Hm. Lunch will arrive in – ” she flips open a silvery pocket watch that’s lying on the table. “ – ten minutes. So before then, I’ll assign you some reading to do.”

     She gets up from behind her desk, to access the bookshelf that covers the whole wall behind her. I take a deep breath.

     Will I ever see Mal and my squad again? Will I ever be allowed back on the Walls, even after I’ve learned how to control my Summoning?

     Try not to think about this. Instead, watch Kalinin search among the many titles collected on the wall. Her lithe arms reach out to pluck unsuspecting books from their hiding spots.

     I settle myself in the embraces of my armchair and sigh, but not loudly enough for her to hear.


End file.
